until the stars fall around us
by sarasidles
Summary: Jane really doesn't like the idea of Lisbon going on a date. [au tag to episode 6x12]


This is nothing more than me loving Jane's jealousy in the car in 6x12 and then completely running with it. So, AU from that exact point and conveniently ignoring anything actually happening re: Ardiles' phone. Whatever, I just want to see them make out. Also, I have shamelessly stolen the idea of Jane symbolically giving Lisbon flowers from several different fics. It's such a Jane thing to do and I think we all need it to happen, to be honest.

* * *

Patrick Jane was used to waiting. Contrary to popular opinion ("_Sitting still isn't really your strong suit, is it?_" Lisbon had snarked, on more than one occasion) he was actually rather good at it. The most obvious example was, of course, Red John. He'd waited for over a decade to finally wrap his hands around the throat of the man who'd taken away his family. If that wasn't patience, what was?

The second, perhaps less obvious but equally important, example of Jane's patience would have to be Teresa Lisbon. Of course, he'd known for some time that he and Lisbon were heading on some kind inevitable crash course towards one another. At first, it seemed that it could've been simply physical - she was certainly attractive and displayed enough signs of wanting him; however shooting Hardy had forced home an uncomfortable emotional truth. He cared deeply for her. More than he should. More than he'd planned on. But the timing could not have been more wrong, _he_ could not have been more wrong for her, and so he'd made sure that they'd stayed nothing more than banter and light hearted flirting, always just shy of any actual commitment. Now, with his life finally void of Red John, he was perfectly free to pursue Lisbon and he had been. Sort of. In a very subtle, sophisticated way. It was just - he just hadn't had the time to figure out the best way to approach yet. This was a special case. Unfortunately, what he had forgotten was that Teresa Lisbon didn't just sit around waiting for things to be inevitable.

"Well, _I _happen to have a date." Lisbon says as Fischer starts the car and all his excitement at having cracked the case immediately vanishes.

"Sorry, a date?" His voice absolutely does not crack.

"What, like I couldn't possibly have a date with somebody?" A tiny crease appears in Lisbon's brow and Jane's fingers itch to smooth it out, possibly brush his thumb over the cluster of freckles right along her hairline. It was, of course, extremely possible that Lisbon could have a date. She was smart, funny, and utterly gorgeous – if anything, her constant single status was the real confusion.

To be honest, Jane isn't entirely sure what happens next except that he's mustn't do a very good job of hiding the savage burst of jealousy he feels, if the sharp look Fischer throws him is anything to go by. He always knew he didn't like Oscar Ardiles. He snaps something about tasselled loafers and then spends the rest of the car ride, for lack of a better term, sulking. They were always meant to have time, he and Lisbon. She would find her footing at the FBI, he would ensure their job security, and then sweep her off her feet. Preferably straight into his arms for the rest of both of their lives. But no. Ardiles got the chance to do that instead.

"Maybe I'll spend time in the gym with you, Cho," He muses later, once Lisbon has left for the evening and Cho's response is the closest Jane has ever seen the other man come to a laugh.

"Stop sulking," is all Cho actually says. "It's one date."

"I have no idea what you mean." Jane says, primly, "Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to solve a murder."

'Solving a murder' turns out to mean picking the lock on Lisbon's hotel room (disturbingly easy, he'll have to make sure she stays in safer quarters next time they travel) and flicking his way through her pay-per-view. At a quarter to ten, by which time he's already correctly guessed the ending to all the primetime shows, he hears the rattle of Lisbon's key. Opening the door, she blinks once at the sight of him and then, with the air of one who has long ago given up trying to understand, shrugs and steps inside.

"What do you want, Jane?" Lisbon asks, yawning.

"And a good evening to you too, my dear."

Once upon a time, Lisbon's first reaction to finding him in her hotel room late at night would've been to threaten to shoot him and then probably try to punch him. He feels like this is an encouraging sign of progress. On the topic of encouraging, while still attractive, her pantsuit looks more like she's just come out of a business meeting than a hot date and he says as much.

Lisbon rolls her eyes, shucking off her jacket. She gently lobs it to him, pointing her chin in the direction of the counter top. "That's because it was. The only heat generated tonight was coming from his phone." While he carefully lays out her jacket, she clarifies: "Ardiles think his phone is being hacked. I sent him to Van Pelt and Rigsby."

"Well, I'm glad."

She frowns at him. "You're glad Ardiles' phone could be hacked? Jane, I know you have some personal vendetta against the loafers but –"

"I'm glad it wasn't a date, Lisbon." He says quietly and her frown deepens, as though she thinks he's telling a joke that she hasn't quite got yet. Lisbon toes off her heels, a hand held up casually to balance against the fridge, yet another example of this new and yet utterly instinctual brand of domesticity they've fallen into since his return. She meets his eyes again and it's like the floodgates open, over a decade of biting his tongue spilling out in an embarrassing rush. Honestly, he'd always thought he'd be much more suave when he finally got make such declarations.

"I'm glad it wasn't a date because I'm in love with you. And it's never been a little bit, no matter what Lorelei said. It's been a lot for a long time now and the thought of you going on a date with Ardiles tonight made me sick with jealousy. You deserve so much better, Teresa, and even though that definitely doesn't include me, I want to try. I want to be that person for you, I want to take you on dates and make you coffee in the morning and I'd even go to one of those baseball games you enjoy so much."

For a moment, there's only silence, pressing down upon him as the weight of his admission settles – it's a little terrifying, sure, because he still can't shake the feeling that his love is only going to be equated with loss but, more than that, it's freeing and it's wonderful and -

"Oh, for Gods sake, you're not in love with me." Lisbon says, exasperated. This is definitely _not_ how he pictured this scenario going. "You only think you are because you can't stand the idea of losing your plucky sidekick to Ardiles, which, as I already told you, isn't happening."

"You're not my sidekick." He says, earnestly. "Lisbon, we spoke about this, you're my _partner_. And, well, I'd like it if you were my partner in every way." It's not the most romantic pitch under the sun but he hopes his choice of phrasing brings back the same fond rush of memories for her that it does for him.

"Shut up, Jane." Lisbon says and it's a small comfort to at least be back on familiar ground. "Trust me, whatever you think you're feeling, it's not real." Her eyes soften a little. "I'm familiar, that's all. It's natural you'd feel a little panicked if you thought that that, along with everything else, was changing. Especially for someone like you! Don't act like you don't still pine for your lost teacup." She's smiling at him now, trying to lure him back in their familiar buddy-buddy banter routine, and he can feel his chance slipping away.

"Lisbon, you do realize I said that I love –"

"Yeah, and you've never done that before, have you?" She says, voice suddenly sharp, smiling vanishing. "Or will you conveniently forget this time too? Hey, maybe now you should hug me and tell me how much I mean to you."

They still haven't really discussed the incident on the beach yet – there had obviously been no time in the immediate aftermath and, ever private, there was no way she was going to fully duke it out on the plane. Now, however, Lisbon looks like she might actually kill him. He'd hidden apologies within his letters, sandwiched between anecdotes about dolphins and the local food but he wasn't naïve enough (or perhaps no longer selfish enough) to think that that could possibly make up for his actions.

"Damn it, Jane, do you have any idea how scared I was that day? I thought you were heading to your death – I certainly thoughtI was heading to mine. " She's warming up her topic now and he finds he can't speak, his mouth instantly dry at even the mention of her death. She'd been quiet on the car drive but he'd never thought she was preparing to _die_. To die for him.

"But," Lisbon continues, "I figured, at least you were taking me with you. At least, for once, you were considering me. And _that's_ when I thought you'd tell me you loved me, Jane! I'd thought maybe–" She breaks off, breathing hard. "Instead, you drove off and left me stranded in the middle of nowhere without a phone or car."

The words are pointed and a terrible thought creeps into his mind. "Wait, you were okay though, right? I mean, you caught up with me fairly quickly –"

"I was fine," Lisbon says curtly, as though its not information she considers him privy to, and doesn't that hurt? "You can relax, Jane, I didn't have to sell myself for a ride. Nice to know you care."

If her previous sentence stung then this one is a dagger and in that moment, he is every bit as horrid as Red John.

"I do care, Lisbon. I care very much and I am so sorry that I caused you pain." The words seem woefully inaccurate to convey the guilt that seems to seep into his very bones. He briefly shuts his eyes and wonders if he'll ever stop collecting sins to atone for. "I won't apologise for leaving you there though. I will do anything in my power to protect you, Lisbon."

"I don't need or want you to protect me, Jane." She sighs. _I don't need to be saved_.

"That's just too bad now, isn't it?" He replies, softly. "Because there's nothing I want more in this world than to protect you. In fact, that's why I had to keep you away. Selfish, I know, but if you had been there in the final moment, I couldn't have done it. I would've chosen you."

"You didn't. You chose Red John." She shrugs. "I can't say I was surprised."

"But it's different now. I'm different now. I can be whatever you need me to be, Lisbon." He takes a careful step forward, trying to regain some lost ground. "Every single day I was away, I thought of you."

Lisbon snorts. "Yeah, that's how you ended up on a date with Fischer, right?" He immediately opens his mouth to assure her that only thing Fischer had to interest him was hair the could be just the right shade of brunette if he didn't look too close but she winces, embarrassed to have even brought it up. "Just go back to your room, Jane, sleep this off. You'll feel differently in the morning."

She moves to brush past him and he immediately reaches to stop her.

"I'm not going to feel differently in the morning, Teresa." He promises, voice low, fingers curling over the fast beat of her pulse. "I'm going to feel the same way I have for years, which is utterly, ridiculously, in love with you."

She tugs her arm free. "Go to _sleep_." She repeats, only this time there's a dangerous edge to her voice.

"Let me make it up to you." He says, glibly, reaching out for her again. He easily catches her wrist and in one fluid tug, pulls her flush to him, his back pressed up against the kitchen counter.

"_Patrick_," She hisses, swallowing hard as he runs a hand down her side, "Stop."

"Why?" He demands, ducking his head to ghost his lips against her temple. She shivers. It's selfish to keep pushing like this, to keep taking pieces of her that he's not sure she has left to give, but he's always been so terribly selfish and he knows she loves him too so why not now –

She pushes hard at his chest, stumbling back out of his grip, and it's like a bucket of ice water over his head.

"_Fuck_." He says, the often-unused word harsh on his lips, and she flinches. "No, not you. Never you. I just - this. Me. I don't know how to even begin apologising to you. I don't know how to do this."

"Then don't." She says, sounding utterly miserable. Then she turns and practically bolts out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

He waits in her room all night, a cup of tea nursed in his lap turning steadily cold. He tries to write her another letter on the back of a receipt he finds but the words come out too thick and fast, twisting themselves around in his head, and this time there's no pretty island scenery to temper them out.

_Dear Teresa, I love you, I'm sorry, please don't leave me don't ever leave me, you saved me, Teresa I love you, your hair your lips your eyes your voice, I love you_

Lisbon doesn't come back and, while wrapping up the case the next morning, he finds out that she spent the remainder of the night in Fischer's room. From the fact that Fischer doesn't try to give him a lecture on appropriate inter-agent relationships, he can tell she doesn't know the full story. Even after everything, Lisbon is still protecting him. He's been an idiot – his patience isn't the one to be extolled here, it's hers.

Through an acute haze of disappointment, humiliation, and guilt, it's Lisbon's final words that keep rattling around his head. For a few days, he'd been horrified at the thought that maybe she didn't feel the same way, that he could've misread the situation so wrong. He would never want Lisbon to be in a relationship with him against her will. Except - she didn't tell him not to love her, she told him not to unless he _could_. Lisbon is scared he doesn't mean it; she's scared he'll leave again, and, although he wishes it wasn't so, she has every right to think that way. All he needs to do now is prove that that's never going to be the case.

* * *

For a week, he simply gives Lisbon a wide berth, which proves to be the right thing to do after she practically gives herself an aneurysm trying to casually shift away when he slides into the car beside her. Since then, he's made sure to ride with Fischer. (Despite everything, he even surprises himself at the intensity with which he misses her and he considers starting a few inter-office conspiracies just to break up the monotony but eventually concludes that that probably wouldn't endear him any further. Briefly, he laments falling in love with someone so strictly adherent to the rules.) After seven agonisingly boring and lonely days of exile, he stops by her desk to ask if she wants to grab lunch. She narrows her eyes at him and he holds up his hands in surrender.

"This is a casual offer, I swear. I'll pay."

"Well, if you're paying." Lisbon agrees and he claps his hands together, hurrying her up from her chair and into her jacket.

It's the first free time they've really had together, just the two of them, since starting at the FBI and he's pleased to find that they easily fall back into a rhythm. He spends most of the meal describing the secret lives of the patrons around them and she alternates between slapping his arm, ordering him to hush, and then grinning as she points out another one for him to try. With cheeks flushed and eyes dancing with mirth, she is breathtakingly beautiful and his heart constricts at the thought that he could have ever hurt her like he did. Pushing thought that aside for now, he constructs wilder and wilder stories with each passing subject, relishing in her every burst of laughter.

"Thanks for this," Lisbon says afterwards, one hand moving up to brush her hair in an uncharacteristically nervous move. "I'm glad we could move past all of … that. I told you it would all blow over."

If he didn't know her so well, he might've missed the disappointment that flickers across her face. But Patrick Jane does know Teresa Lisbon and that's the final confirmation he needs. He smiles wide. "Oh, I haven't definitely changed my mind, my dear. I'm still as smitten as ever. I just thought you needed the reminder that, no matter what, I'm your friend first. Come on now, we're going to be late back."

He loops his arm through hers, gently propelling her forward as she gapes at him.

* * *

He starts small. Lisbon had clearly expected him to give up after her initial rebuff and she now seems perpetually confused at the idea that he hasn't. Which is fair enough, given that most of the times he had done anything positive in the past, it had been proceeded by some huge disaster. Jane certainly counts the night in her hotel room as a failure but she seems to consider the free lunch apology enough and looks unsure about his continual attention. He'd once told her that he'd never seduce her over meal but, in truth, that is the setting he would've used in the past: a private candlelit meal, where he could stare into his companion's eyes and whisper all kinds of enticements. Now, Lisbon is going to require a whole different approach and for someone who was once struggling to think about ways to do so, he's full of ideas.

Lisbon's never been a touchy-feely person but she does crave stability: a careful hand placed at the small of her back, his shoulder bumping against hers as they stand side by side, the silent reminder _I'm here for you_. Their relationship has always been tactile and so it's a pleasingly natural transition to make. Holding her hand, however, is a decidedly new step. One afternoon, squished into the car backseat as Fischer debriefs them on the latest case, his hand reaches for hers. She jumps, her knee bumping into the back of Cho's seat.

Muttering an apology, Lisbon fixes a determined stare on Fischer, every inch the obedient and attentive FBI agent. Slowly, he runs his thumb over her knuckles.

"Remember to breathe, sweetheart." He whispers, grinning, and her grip tightens at the endearment.

He also tries to communicate this intention, figuring that honest verbal affirmations have been missing from their relationship for far too long. Apparently, he overkilled a little though as Lisbon eventually slams a file down on her desk, looking pleased but also a little frustrated. "Yes, Jane, I know you value my opinion. Thank you. Now _please_, let me finish this."

Fischer smothers a smirk behind paperwork of her own. Not that he can see her very clearly – Lisbon had stopped short of actually building a fort around their work space but he's starting to think all the files aren't just placed haphazardly around the desk.

"Good." He says lightly, tucking an arm behind his head as he settles back on the couch. "Just as long as you know. You look lovely today, by the way."

Fischer laughs, quickly turning into a cough at his stare. Lisbon moves another stack of paper between them.

* * *

Less than two days later, he watches as Lisbon approaches the bouquet on her desk with the same type of unease she typically saves for especially flighty looking suspects. He has to admit, the blue and pink display of flowers is definitely not the way he would've normally gone – he's had ten years at least to muse on this and knows they are far too gaudy for Lisbon's taste – but he's trying to make a point that goes past the simple aesthetic.

"Pretty." Fischer comments as she walks by. "Who left those?"

'I don't know." Lisbon replies, frowning now as though the uncertainty of the flowers has personally offended her. "There's no note."

"Lisbon got a present!" Jane says gleefully, unable to stay silent any longer, and she whirls around to face him.

"This was you, wasn't it." It's not a question.

"Hush, I wouldn't dare spoil another exciting mystery for the FBI to solve. Say, did you know that bluebells mean everlasting love? And those lovely camellias symbolise longing, I believe." He beams at her and Lisbon's cheeks flush a delightful shade of pink.

"How would you know that if you weren't the one who sent them?" Fischer asks, curiosity written all over face. Jane can tell that she's dying to know the finer details of his relationship with Lisbon, that she has been ever since his first (and only, really) condition for work was Lisbon. It's almost funny, considering he's not sure the two of them even know.

"General knowledge, of course. I'm excellent at quiz nights."

"One day," Cho, who had come in a few steps behind Fischer, says, "I'm going to involve all of you in my personal life, just to see how you like it."

"If you insist." Jane seizes on the opportunity to take the spotlight off Lisbon, who is looking more and more embarrassed with every second. She's not going to want to date him if she has to explain the flowers to Abbott. "Tell me, Kimball, how is your relationship with your mother?"

(Later that afternoon, Lisbon puts the flowers in a vase in the break room, but not before he has a chance to swipe one from the pile. He leaves it on her desk again and she props it up against a stack of files.)

* * *

For the next step in his plan, he takes a day off. Actually, he leads them all on a wild goose chase for fifty minutes towards the wrong suspect and then slinks off in amidst of all the confusion. However, this time he texts Lisbon before he does – nothing that will help her find him, mind you, but enough so that she can't add this to the long list of times he's abandoned her ("_have not flown the coop, would've taken my tea_"). He's heading back to the couch, hoping to avoid Abbott, when Cho corners him.

"So where were you all today?"

"Cho, I didn't know you cared," He says joyfully, and attempts to sling his arm around the shorter man's shoulders. Cho shakes his head.

"I don't. But, after Lisbon, people seem to think I would have knowledge of your whereabouts. I got sick of Abbott asking."

"Fine." He pouts, still determined to wrangle a hug out of Cho one day. "If you must know, I was buying a house."

Jane pauses, waiting for the inevitable fanfare that should follow such an announcement. Although, if he's perfectly honest, the whole ordeal was a lot simpler that he would've initially thought. Buying a house was, of course, a huge declaration and was hoping Lisbon would see it as such – a sign that he wasn't planning on going anywhere. But the concept of 'home' had been foreign to him for so long now – it certainly wasn't Malibu anymore and it wasn't an attic or dusty hotel room. Home was dark hair and bright green eyes and the faint trace of cinnamon and he was never going to find that in any real estate office. Money had never been a problem for him and that, combined with a healthy dose of charm, had meant the real estate agent in question was only too eager for him to sign the papers straight away.

Still, it's a little annoying when Cho barely reacts and instead immediately asks, "Does Lisbon know?"

Unfortunately, that's the exact moment that Lisbon herself walks around the corner. She groans, yells "_found him_!" over her shoulder and then, quickly, "Do I know what? Jane, what did you do?"

For a second the words are so familiar that all three of them smile fondly and he takes advantage of the good mood to hand over her daily flower. Ever since the first delivery, he's been leaving her flowers in a myriad of places – while still denying all ownership of the initial bouquet, of course. Lisbon seems to have given up refusing them, at least when offered directly, and quite happily accepts the offering, eyes fluttering closed as she breathes in the scent. In fact, it's all very pleasant right up until Cho says bluntly: "Jane bought a house" and Lisbon drops the primrose in her coffee.

"You bought a _house_?" She asks once she's fished out the flower, almost as if testing the idea out for size. This is more the type of response he expected and if he wasn't so intent on focusing on Lisbon's, he would've sent Cho a reproachful glare.

"Yep." Jane confirms. "Nice big one. Red brick. Very _permanent_, I must say." She looks confused at the inflection and he continues, blithely, "I could probably live there for the rest of my life."

"Oh god, please tell me you didn't do this for me." Lisbon says, realization dawning, and Cho seems to take that as his cue to leave. Jane decides to forgive him for the house faux-pau. Lisbon, on the other hand, stares after him in horror - as though Cho hasn't worked with them both for years and isn't aware that Jane would probably jump through fire for Lisbon.

"Now, now, Teresa," He says, eager to pull her gaze back to him, "I bought the house for me, not you. Greedy. Although, if you want to share, I certainly wouldn't be opposed."

Lisbon rubs her forehead in a move he likes to affectionately think of as 'a Jane headache'. True to form, she follows it up with: "Jane, this is a huge amount of money to spend on – on a whim! What happened to the motor home? I mean, this is not me in support of the Airstream, the last thing you needed was the ability to freely travel while scheming but _still_."

He shrugs. "I have the money. I got rid of the Airstream, not nearly roomy enough."

"_Roomy_ - you can't work any technology from this century! You spend the majority of your day on a couch and the only pair of socks you appear to own are the ones I bought you – by the way, I can only pray that you are hand washing those. What could you possibly need room for?"

"Yes, I'm washing the socks, Lisbon." Jane sniffs. "They just happen to be my favourite pair. And I'll need room for your things, of course."

Her now empty coffee cup narrowly misses his head.

* * *

He saves the hardest for last. The ring. He contemplates throwing it into the ocean or something equally dramatic but, while he's confident in this decision, he's also pretty sure he'd regret that the second the ring left his hand and besides, he hates swimming. Instead, he quietly slips it off one night and into the photo compartment of his wallet.

Jane flexes his left hand experimentally. After so many years, it feels a little wrong, especially to see the tan line across his finger, but it also feels right – a type of weightlessness matching the one off his shoulders. For so long, his ring had taken an importance of mythical proportions – it was no longer just to promise to his wife but a reminder of his goal, the reason why he hadn't thrown himself off the nearest cliff that moment he saw their butchered bodies. He now has a different, human reason to want to be living his life again.

He's positive that Angie would've liked Teresa. Physically, the two women he's loved are like night and day (one tall and blonde, the other small and dark) but neither of them had never shied away from calling him out on his shit. He'll never forget his first family, will always carry them around with him, but the idea of 'moving on' didn't seem as anywhere near as repugnant as it had when people had first suggested it to him. He thinks that's probably because he'd always associated the idea with one-night stands – never a fresh start, merely a disgrace to Angela's memory. Teresa makes him happy, happier than he could've ever thought possible, and Angie would never have considered that a disgrace.

Same as with the house, he half expects some kind of building wide commotion the next morning as he steps in, sans ring, but not that many people even notice. For something that has held so much meaning to him, it turns out to be very easy to miss on a quick glance. The day passes quicker than he would've liked and it's not until past lunch, when he's tossing Cho a muesli bar, that he gets a double take reaction.

Jane raises an eyebrow, challenging, and Cho nods slowly.

"She's getting coffee, I think." Cho offers and Jane grins.

Jane gets all the way to the break room before he starts to feel the slightest bit uneasy. For all his confidence and posturing, he's well aware that "widowed felon with tendency to piss off all in a ten mile radius" is hardly a great catch. Hell, even Ardiles would probably rank higher. This is the most he can ever offer her though and he just hopes that it can be enough. As he hovers in the doorway, Lisbon is standing with her back to him, stretching up to retrieve a mug from where they have all been placed upon the top most shelf. (This may have been his doing but, in his defence, it had been a ploy to screw with Abbott, not her).

The opportunity is so easy to take that he's half across the room before he even realizes that it's happening. Resting his right hand on her shoulder, he raises the left to grab her favourite mug.

"I've got it, Teresa."

"Jane, did you move –"

Lisbon pauses mid-sentence, gaze fixed on to his bare hand. When she looks up at him, her eyes are wide and questioning and he nods. She sucks in a breath then abruptly walks out of the room. After a stunned moment, he hurries after her, the mug left forgotten on the sink. He catches up with her in the corridor but before he can say a word, she grabs the cuff of his sleeve and hauls him into an empty interrogation room. It seems fitting.

"Lisbon, I didn't know you were this kind of girl –"

"Do you really mean it?" She interrupts, voice wavering a little. "The flowers and the house and the ring and everything, do you _reall_y mean it?"

"Yes." He says, and tries his best to force the history of twelve years into one single word. "God, yes."

"Good." Then she's kissing him fiercely, fingers curling around the lapels of his suit jacket, and his hands drop to her hips, pulling her as close as he possibly can. Kissing Teresa Lisbon, he finds, is like seeing stars, shining galaxies sparkling behind the back of his eyelids, and a whole array of colours, wiping out the red that's stained his vision for so long. Kissing Teresa Lisbon is the best damn thing he's done in years and he can't believe it took him this long. One of his hand moves to tangle in her hair as he walks her back up against the interrogation table.

Breathing roughly, Lisbon pulls back. "Whoa, cowboy. Not here."

He nods furiously. "Okay. Yes. Where?"

Lisbon laughs, the sound both confused and delighted. "_Later_. You could come to mine after work?" Even after everything, she sounds a little uncertain and he beams down at her, dropping a light kiss on her forehead.

"There's no place I'd rather be."

"There was more to come, you know." He adds, insistent that she knows the full range of this plan. "I hadn't at all finished wooing you. I was going to try for pony 2.0. For old times sake."

Lisbon screws up her nose and he can tell she's torn between making fun of his use of the word "woo" and telling him to shut up. He decides to take her mind off that dilemma by seeing how far he can get away with kissing her again. All their disagreements should definitely be solved this way.

(Officially, they're keeping it private for now but Cho knew the second they walked back in, and only a week later, Lisbon forgets and shouts "for God's Patrick, put _down_ the fish bowl" while on the phone to Van Pelt. She then has to hold the phone away from her ear for the next five minutes as Grace's shrieks can be heard audibly around the house. Jane can't stop smiling.)


End file.
